


The First of Many

by Solitary_Endeavor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Bottom Sherlock, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Top John, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitary_Endeavor/pseuds/Solitary_Endeavor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a holiday gift prompt: How about John giving Sherlock his very first blowjob for his birthday (for convenience, let's say they got together at Christmas or New Years b/c ROMANTIC). Sherlock is a Total Mess and john really Gets Into It.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First of Many

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melatovnik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melatovnik/gifts).



> This was written for Melatovnik as part of a tiny-ficlet holiday thing, and clearly it Got Away From me. It also felt like good timing since today is Sherlock's birthday. :3
> 
> Thanks so much to Anna conductor_of_light for the last minute beta. Mel, I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

 

 

Sherlock froze in the entryway of the sitting room, letting the door swing shut behind him.  

   
“... _Oh!_  Oh-hhh, I, oh god.  You...”

   
The corner of John’s mouth twitched as he watched the color rise high in Sherlock’s cheeks.  “Can I take that as a yes, then?”

   
“Yes!” Sherlock blurted, then winced, as if embarrassed by the force of his enthusiasm.  “I mean, yes, that would be, um, good.”  He seemed entranced by the progression of John’s tongue across his bottom lip, and there was no helping John’s smile now.

   
“Good,” John repeated back at him teasingly.  “That’s good, I’m glad.”

   
Sherlock swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.  “I, um, should I...that is, do you...uh, here?”

   
He sounded a bit faint to John’s ears, but the bright gleam in his eyes and the flush steadily working its way up his throat proved that Sherlock certainly wasn’t about to shy away from this newest intimacy.  Which was also good.

   
As difficult as it was sometimes to rein himself in, when kissing became groping became mutual handjobs, and Sherlock became pliant and greedy and molten in his arms...  John understood that all this, both physical and emotional, was novel to Sherlock.  If pressed, John would admit to babying Sherlock these past two weeks, just a bit.  Not because John thought he would scare him off, god no, but because Sherlock had a tendency to overestimate his own limits, often to his detriment.

   
With an irrepressibly fond smile, John stepped forward.  He gently backed Sherlock against the sitting room door before reaching up to finish tugging Sherlock’s scarf free.  “I could suck you off right here while you’ve still got your kit on.  Straight off a case with a foot chase through back alleys, and you watching me tackle our suspect—one of your favorite kinds of cases, yeah?”

   
“My favorite,” Sherlock agreed, his voice a breathless rumble at the bottom of his usual range.  Something low in John’s belly twisted pleasantly at the sound of it.

   
John dropped Sherlock’s scarf to the floor and started on the buttons to his coat.  “And I might do, another time.”  He pushed Sherlock’s coat from his shoulders.  “But for your first time, it would probably be best to have you lying down, so your knees don’t go out from under you again.”

   
“That was _one time_ ,” Sherlock complained as he reached for the zip on John’s coat.  He gave it a firm tug all the way to the bottom, then tucked two long fingers into the waistband of John’s jeans.  Sherlock ducked his head to glance up at John from under his lashes.  “Of course, if you’d rather ‘have me’ whilst flat on my back...”

  
John grunted against Sherlock’s collarbone, his hands tightening around the other man’s flanks.  “Oooh, you’re a bad man,” he chuckled.  “I thought we’d agreed to take it slow.”

   
“ _You_ decided that, and then took my silence as agreement,” Sherlock said, toying with the zip of John’s trousers.

   
“If by silence you mean ‘delirious inability to string together two words,’” John countered, tugging the bottom of Sherlock’s shirt free so he could slide a hand up under it.  He dragged his fingertips over the fine line of hair below Sherlock’s navel and Sherlock trembled, biting down on that obscenely plump lower lip of his as his eyelids fluttered shut.  “Turnabout’s fair play.  At least you were in the room with me during the discussion, which is more than I usually get from you.”

   
Sherlock unsuccessfully smothered a frustrated whine and finally reached down to grasp John’s hand, directing it where he wanted it most.  John gladly obliged him, seeking out the tip of Sherlock’s cock through the fabric of his trousers and pants by feel, and rubbing slow circles against it with the pad of his thumb.  Sherlock’s hips jerked, and a whimper stuck in the back of his throat.  John’s groin throbbed.

   
“The offer stands at a birthday blowjob,” John said gruffly as Sherlock squirmed, caught between John’s body and the door, and John hoped Sherlock wouldn’t call his bluff.  When in his right mind, Sherlock was clearly aware of the effect his voice had on John, and very rarely had John ever refused a direct request (order) from Sherlock.  As a result, John sincerely doubted his ability to stick by his good intentions if Sherlock were to put two and two together and demand something imperiously direct like “fuck me!”  Christ, just the thought of it was dangerous.

   
“Yes, I’ve already said yes!” Sherlock huffed.  He pawed restlessly at John’s hips.  “Where do you...want me?”

   
“Bedroom,” John gasped, withdrawing his hands and ignoring Sherlock’s wounded noise of protest.  “Bedroom, now.”  He took a step back so Sherlock could move away from the door, and Sherlock was off like a shot, streaking through the kitchen on coltish, unsteady legs.  The bedroom door was slammed open so hard John heard it rebound off the wall.

   
“John!”

   
“You’d better be naked by the time I get in there!” John called back, to buy himself enough time to remove his own coat, to hang both his and Sherlock’s, and to slip off his shoes.

   
Sherlock was certainly naked once John made it to the bedroom, save for his socks, but as it was January John would hardly fault him for that.  Sherlock was already writhing with anticipation, hips shifting, heels dragging and skidding against the coverlet as his hands opened and closed where they rested atop his thighs.  His delightfully rosy cock, half-hard from John’s teasing in the entryway, continued to plump under John’s gaze as John stripped from his own clothes.

   
“Gorgeous,” John murmured, partly to himself, partly because he knew full well by now what a flattering word or three did for Sherlock’s libido.  Sure enough, Sherlock’s flush deepened and his cock twitched.  John climbed between Sherlock’s legs with a grin.

   
“John,” Sherlock whispered as John stretched out atop him.  Hooking his arms beneath John’s to grasp his shoulders, Sherlock eagerly pulled him into a kiss.  John ran his hands through Sherlock’s curls, scratching at his scalp and tugging gently at the wild strands, kissing him back with thorough attention, until Sherlock was fully hard and rutting against his thigh.

   
This was about the point at which John would encourage Sherlock to wrap one of those enormous hands around both their cocks, or if Sherlock was particularly worked up, to frot himself against John to completion.  John pulled back to catch Sherlock’s eye.

   
“All right?” he asked gently.  “Still want that blowjob?”

   
“God, yes,” Sherlock responded immediately, with a full-body squirm.  “I wanted it two weeks ago.”

   
John scoffed.  “Two weeks ago you’d have gone off like a...like a _Christmas cracker_ the second I put my mouth on you, admit it.”

   
“I’ll admit no such thing,” Sherlock said haughtily, but he was doing a shite job of suppressing a cheeky little smile, and John’s heart clenched with how much he loved this ridiculous man.

   
“Oh ho, you’re in for it now,” John taunted, sliding down Sherlock’s body until he was face to, erm, head.  “We’ll see just how long you last, hmm?”

   
“Are you going to _talk_ it to ejaculation, John?  Because that wou-whoa-oh...!”

   
John sucked him cautiously deeper with light suction and glanced up to check his face.  Clearly, he needn’t have worried.  Sherlock’s eyes were squeezed closed, his mouth had fallen open, and his hands were fisted in his own hair.  John sucked a bit more strongly just to watch Sherlock’s back arch from the mattress, his belly heaving; to watch as Sherlock released his hair to slide his own hands over his torso restlessly.

   
“Like that, do you?” John pulled off long enough to ask smugly.  He reached up across Sherlock’s long body to pinch hard at a dusky pink nipple, and Sherlock gave a yelp which trailed off into a shaky groan.

   
“Go ahead, then,” John encouraged him, his throat tight with arousal.  He had to swallow thickly before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one trembling thigh.  “I want to see you play with yourself while I get you off.”

   
“Yes, John,” Sherlock gasped, squirming enough that his cock prodded insistently at John’s cheek, and let it never be said that John couldn’t take a hint in bed.  John sucked him deep this time, but slowly, caressing the delicate, blood-hot skin with lips and tongue as he went, until his mouth met the forefinger and thumb he had curled around the base of Sherlock’s cock to hold him steady.  Glancing up, he saw that Sherlock had listened (for once) and was pinching and rolling his nipples between his fingers.

   
“That’s a good boy,” John pulled off to murmur huskily, and Sherlock shivered.  “What a good boy, you’re gorgeous,” John praised him, giving a few firm strokes to Sherlock’s erection, slick with his saliva, as he watched Sherlock’s flush deepen to the middle of his chest.  “You like being good for me, don’t you?”

   
“Yes!” Sherlock answered readily, brow furrowed and neck straining against his pillow.  He was a far cry from the haughty, self-possessed man of less than ten minutes ago, and John loved him terribly like this: disassembled and exposed, only for John’s eyes, and trusting John to take care of him.  Two weeks ago, before all this, John would have never believed it.  Admittedly it had taken a bit of time to finally get here, exactly here, but to John every moment had been worth it for this.

   
“ _Christ_ , I love you,” John groaned against Sherlock’s skin as he kissed his way from the leaking tip of Sherlock’s cock to the base, nudged his nose against Sherlock’s bollocks, where they were already drawn up tight and the musky smell of his arousal was strongest.

   
John’s erection pulsed along with his heartbeat, where it was trapped between his stomach and the mattress.  Though it was at John’s insistence that they not jump into penetrative sex right away, he was gripped with a sweet, almost agonizing anticipation to have Sherlock splayed out so wantonly in front of him without some part of John inside him, filling him up, overwhelming him and claiming him in very a primal way.  Mouth, fingers, cock, John didn’t much care which at the moment (that was a lie), but he also knew it would be all the more satisfying if he drew it out as long as possible before fucking Sherlock, to the point where Sherlock was gagging for it.  But before that...

   
It wasn’t anything John had really engaged in with previous lovers—only once, in fact, at a post-exams party during med school when he’d been spectacularly drunk—but god, John wanted to eat Sherlock’s delectable little arse.  He was salivating just at the thought of it.   _Be moving a bit fast for him, probably_ , John reminded himself, but he added it to the top of his mental To Do list.  Instead, he settled for sucking his thumb nice and wet, and then rubbing the pad teasingly over Sherlock’s twitching hole as he took in Sherlock’s cock once more.  John swallowed around him once, stroked at his hole, almost-but-not-quite breaching the tight ring of muscle, and suddenly Sherlock’s whole body seized up.

   
Sherlock shouted, sounding almost surprised, and John hadn’t quite been done with him, but there would be plenty of time to work on Sherlock’s stamina together.  Sherlock’s abdomen tightened, his thighs clamped around John’s shoulders, heels with his ridiculous...indexed socks (“Winter weight; dress shoe appropriate, case appropriate” he had informed John that morning while dressing) digging into John’s lower back, and here it came now.

   
John held him deeply in his mouth, wanted to give Sherlock the complete experience even if he was too out of his mind to fully appreciate it until later, and massaged at Sherlock’s hole as he shuddered and began to come down John’s throat.  Sherlock keened, loud and long, until the noise finally petered out into a sob, which was definitely new, and John might have been worried if not for the further tightening of Sherlock’s long legs around him and the weak thrust of Sherlock’s hips as he finished and _holy shit_ John thought, dazed with lust as Sherlock finally went boneless.

   
Within moments John had surged up Sherlock’s body dropping fierce kisses along the way, until he was poised over Sherlock on his good arm and pumping his own aching cock.  Sherlock seemed to collect himself enough to loll his head in John’s direction, his hair a sweaty wreck that clung to his sex-flushed skin, and he stared at John with half-lidded eyes which glittered darkly beneath his damp lashes.

   
“Mmmm, _John_ ,” he purred, his voice nearly subsonic with lazy satisfaction, and damn if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.  Two strokes more, and John was coming over Sherlock’s stomach, encouraged by Sherlock’s heels tucked up under the curve of his arse, driving him forward until he was utterly spent and had collapsed atop Sherlock.

   
With a happy sigh, Sherlock lifted his arms and wrapped them around John, holding him in place and smearing John’s come between their bellies in the process.  John’s face was mashed into the crook of Sherlock’s neck, but he frowned exaggeratedly enough that Sherlock would feel it against his skin.

   
“You did that on purpose,” John accused, once he had caught his breath.  Sherlock didn’t answer, but he did break into those closed-mouthed, rumbling little giggles of his reserved for when he was feeling particularly pleased with himself.  John pinched his flank in retaliation, and Sherlock laughed aloud.

   
“Thank you, John,” he murmured, finally settling himself, loosening his grip enough for John to slide off him and press up against his side.  He tipped up his face after just the slightest hesitance and John kissed him swiftly, heart squeezing at how two weeks into this thing between them, sometimes Sherlock still seemed to second-guess how welcomed his affections might be at certain times, as if he thought there might be daily aggregate limits.

   
“Liked your present, yeah?” John teased between deep, languid presses of mouth and tongue in which he tried to convey wordlessly to Sherlock that he would never _not_ want to kiss him.

   
“Sex as a birthday gift, a bit tacky, from what I’ve been lead to believe.”

   
John pinched him again, eliciting another chuckle.  “That wasn’t the only gift I got you, you wanker.”

   
“Of course I liked it,” Sherlock scoffed. “And as soon as I can move again I’ll show you just how much.  As my very first, however, I’m not sure I got the best... _bang_ for my buck,” he mused.  "I might need another to decide.  What’s your exchange policy?”

   
“No time limit,” John suggested, amused.  “But unlike some people in this bed, I’m no longer forty, so you might want to hold onto that thought.”

   
“Mm, that’s all right,” Sherlock assured him, curling into John drowsily.  “I waited seven years the first time, a little more waiting won’t kill me.”

   
“...Seven?” John repeated.

   
Sherlock’s eyes were closed, his head resting in a position atop John’s bad shoulder where he wasn’t putting too much pressure on it but could still touch John’s scar with his mouth, which seemed to be his favorite way to fall asleep.  Of course, when John’s shoulder did inevitably start to stiffen, he’d be poked and prodded until he was in position for John to spoon him for the rest of the night.

   
“What?” Sherlock yawned.  “No, forty, I’m forty.”

   
It was seven years ago that they had met.  Two weeks ago, after that first kiss and the awkward but cautiously giddy conversation that had followed, John had asked “How long?” and Sherlock had evasively answered, “A while.”  Clearly ‘a while’ had meant the entire time, and a lump of emotion lodged itself in John’s throat.

   
“Sherlock...it took us a long time—far too long—to get here, but you know you’re...well, you’re the love of my life, right?” he asked gruffly.  John wasn’t good with words like this, at least not when spoken aloud, but for Sherlock he was resolved to make an effort.

   
Sherlock’s face brightened in a shy, sleepy smile.  “And you’re mine.  Mm, best birthday ever, I’d say.”

   
“Best birthday _yet_ ,” John promised him, cupping the back of Sherlock’s head and pressing a kiss to his temple.  And then, because he didn’t want to worry Sherlock unnecessarily with too much gravity he added jokingly, “Who knows?  By your next birthday you’ll probably be ready for something _really_ naughty.”

   
“Just wait until your birthday,” Sherlock told him with a smirk.  “I have a list.”


End file.
